


Public Displays of Affection

by eeyore9990



Series: Big Bad John [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Busy bodies, Hints of Sheriff/Melissa, M/M, The poor sheriff has no time for this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-31
Updated: 2014-01-31
Packaged: 2018-01-10 16:52:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1162171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eeyore9990/pseuds/eeyore9990
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the first time since John got a cell phone, he has to change his voice mail.  It's Stiles' fault, of course.</p><p>His message now says:</p><p> </p><p>  <i>"You've reached Sheriff Stilinski. If you are calling to inform on my son and the activities he participates in with his boyfriend, please hang up now. I would remind you of two facts. One: he is of legal age to do whatever legal activities he so chooses. Two: I am his father and, as such, I really do not need to know which compromising position he was caught in this time. For the love of all things holy, I do not need those mental images.</i></p><p> </p><p>  <i>For all other inquiries, please leave a message after the tone."</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Public Displays of Affection

**Author's Note:**

  * For [andinocara](https://archiveofourown.org/users/andinocara/gifts).



> For andinocara, who encouraged this nonsense. :D
> 
> In the same universe as [You KNOW This Happens](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1050905/chapters/2339987)

John has never walked in on Stiles and Derek in a compromising situation. In fact, Derek has just, in the last few months, grown comfortable enough in John's house—Stiles' childhood home—to sit beside Stiles on the couch.

John may have overdone his obligatory father speech. Perhaps he should have stopped at "if you hurt him, I will shoot you" and not added "with wolfsbane bullets and a mistletoe chaser."

Well, live and learn.

Apparently, though, as much as Derek acts like a shy, retiring maiden while under John's roof, he feels no compunction about PDA's in Beacon Hills or the surrounding Greater Beacon County. Of course, Derek can only be held minimally accountable. John is well aware that it is his son, his very own flesh and blood, who is responsible for the hell John's life has become. John knows this because he has been told of each act of lewd behavior, in exquisite detail, by the citizens who voted for him.

At first, it was innocuous. Old, ultra-conservative, professional pearl-clutchers. They'd waddle over to John, back in the early days, acting scandalized while they hissed at John that they'd seen his son _kissing_ a man! And then they'd smirk with a nasty gleam in their eyes, just waiting for John to fall apart in distress. 

He'd found the best way to shut down those idiots was to affect great relief and mutter something about being so glad to hear the dear boys had made up. And then, depending on the vitriol he could feel building up in whichever idiot was harassing him, he'd wink and say, "Might want to stay out of hearing range when they get around to the _real_ making up, eh?"

That would give him a solid three minutes of sputtering during which he could offer a pleasant goodbye and get away before his victim recovered.

He looks back on those days fondly now.

"Sheriff?" 

John looks up to see Harry from the furniture store approaching, his amiable face twitching with humor. "Not again," John groans, hitting his head very deliberately against the roof of his squad car before turning back to Harry. "What'd the little deviant do this time?" 

"I won't go into details because I know for damn sure no man needs to know details about his kids' sex lives, but. If Stiles gets caught half-naked one more time in the store, I'm afraid old man Witherspoon will outright ban him from the premises. And as much shopping as they do there, I'd really hate to see that happen."

John winces and scrubs a hand over his face. "I don't suppose I can dare hope it was the top half?"

The look Harry shoots him is so pitying, John has to turn away from it. Shaking his head ruefully, he slides into his car and says, "Thanks for the heads up. I'll pass along the message." 

There are three more privately offered complaints against Stiles' behavior before the end of John's shift. The last one is the final straw.

"Miss Phoenix, Miss Devine, Miss Cherry. What can I do for you ladies this fine evening?" John asks when the trio of drag queens approach. 

"Evening, Sheriff." Cherry leans against a nearby lamppost, shoulders curving back to show off her cleavage. "Just thought we'd drop a word in your ear about that adorable son of yours."

"Wait. Why are you talking to me? I thought you had his phone number." John looks to Phoenix to confirm this, who sighs dramatically.

"Aw, Sheriff, sugar. We've talked his cute little ears off, but that boy gets with arm's reach of that Hale boy and it's like every bit of sense just trickles out his ears."

John lets out an aggravated noise. "I seriously doubt it's his ears his brains are leaking from."

Cherry cackles. "Not that I blame him at all. Derek is mighty fine. But there are limits even at Jungle, and he's coming real close to crossing that line. It would surely break my heart if he got denied entrance. Those two pretty the place up."

"Well," John sighs. "I'll have a talk with him." 

"Thank you, Sheriff," Devine says, her sultry tones drawing out his title. "Just remember, if you ever find yourself in need of a dance partner..." She steps closer, an elegant figure on five inch heels, and flicks a fingernail against his badge. "I'm available anytime."

"Ohhh!" Phoenix calls, her eyebrows shooting toward her hairline. "You'd better watch yourself, Devine. That pretty little Nurse McCall might just stab you in the eye with a needle for looking at her man."

John blinks, his mouth opening and closing wordlessly. "Melissa? We're not..."

"Oh, sugar," Phoenix says, her voice softening. "If you aren't, you will be. Might as well start now."

John nods mutely, giving a little wave as he walks away. Melissa? 

And then the day's many traumatizing conversations come flooding back and he scowls, pulling his work phone from his belt. Punching in Stiles' number from memory, he waits for the little punk to pick up.

"Dad? What's wrong?" The genuine concern he hears in Stiles' voice calms his ire, and John is almost pleasant when he answers.

"Oh, you know. Just ran into some friends of yours today." John can _feel_ the confusion coming through the line, and goes on. "Harry from the furniture store. Janice from Bed, Bath, and Beyond. Cheryl from the mattress place... And a trio of drag queens."

"Dad, I can explain—"

"Oh god, please don't. I really, _really_ do not need an explanation. Really don't. Please, do not give me one. I just need your word that every public display of affection you participate in from now on will be above the neck."

"Dad..."

"Stiles, I swear to god..."

"Look, it won't happen again."

"Son, seriously, if you find yourself out in public and feel the urge to attack your boyfriend, do what every other red blooded American in that situation does."

Stiles' sigh is loud and melodramatic, making John wince at the volume directly in his ear.

"Find a goddamn bathroom and lock the door."


End file.
